


mine eyes are made the fools

by FahcLove



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Statment, Suicide, The Fear of Being Watched
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FahcLove/pseuds/FahcLove
Summary: Statement given by Eloise Broker regarding her...being watched. Statement given on April 15th 2003. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.





	mine eyes are made the fools

**Author's Note:**

> tw for suicide
> 
> I find the Eye to be the most interesting of the Entities. Mostly because the fact that there are basically no statements of people being scared of it. So I decided to write one. I might write more, I dunno.
> 
> (Title is from Macbeth)

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement given by Eloise Broker regarding her...being watched. Statement given on April 15th 2003. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

**ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)**

Someone is watching me. I’ve never met him, but I know he’s watching me. You have to believe me.

I feel it more than ever now, in this building, the pressure of one hundred eyes increased tenfold. I’m not even sure if you can read this, my hand is shaking so badly I can hardly write. 

It all started with the book. I found it in my new flat, which I bought when I had just started selling big - I’m a freelance graphic designer, and a few big companies (who I cannot legally name) had asked me to design their logos. I did and I made a lot of money from it. And people started noticing me. 

So I moved from my dingy flat in Cirencester into a much bigger flat in East London. I don’t know why I choose there, I never liked big cities that much, but I felt that since I was becoming big, I had to live somewhere big. 

It helped that I didn’t have to leave my flat for anything other than shopping trips. 

My landlord was nice, he was a middle aged man, in his late 40s maybe 50s (I’ve never been good at guessing age) with jet black hair slowly streaked with white. He had wrinkles, and was always smiling. He kept chattering on about the person who used to live in my flat, talking about how nice he was, how he had lived there for almost 15 years before getting a promotion and moving. I don’t remember his name, although I wish I did. I know it started with an E. Evan, Elliot, Eric, something like that. I just wish I could remember. 

If I did, maybe I could ask him to stop. 

I moved in around August 2001. I remember because one month after I moved in - to the exact day - I found the book. It was in the medicine cabinet, along with some ibuprofen and aspirin. I just assumed that when he was moving out, Eric or Elliott or whatever just forgot. I kept the pills, my hands had been hurting more and more due to my constant stream of clients, but I planned to give the book to my landlord, or give it to Eric/Elliot myself. 

At least, I planned to. But then I opened it.

It was a journal, about Elliot’s new position as the “Head”. Head of what, I don’t know. He never said. He just called himself the “Head”. It was all pretty simple enough, I skimmed through it multiple times, not really taking the time to read it. I was curious, but nervous, as it was his personal journal and I was snooping. But then I read something that caught my eye. 

_ “I don’t need to sleep. I see everything.”  _

Written over and over and over and over. It took up two whole pages. Drawing of eyes covered every blank space that wasn’t covered by words. It scared me. Elliot had seemed normal, perfectly sane. My landlord had called him “charming and friendly”. He didn’t mention him having some sort of mental breakdown. 

With both curiosity and concern, I started reading the journal, from the beginning. 

It started out pretty normal, talking about how his old boss had approached him, telling him he was going to be the new Head. He started training Elliot, teaching him how to “see” and how to “watch for the Archivist”. It was concerning, and I was slowly getting the idea that Elliot must’ve been in charge of a cult or something. 

The next few entries were about the Archivist, Gertrude, and how much he despised her. He really hated her. She would send her assistants to pester him, request thing he “cannot allow under any circumstances” as he wrote furiously in the journal. He theorized that she wanted him to quit, so she kept annoying him. Apparently, she had liked the old Head, and wouldn’t give Elliot a chance to prove himself. I still remember what Elliot wrote after that. 

_ “I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I prove myself to her. When I give her the looks of all her precious Assistants walking blindly to the deaths she’s leading them to. I Saw what happened to Eric. I can’t wait for her to See too.” _

‘See’ was capitalized. So was ‘saw’. I don’t know why I thought that was so strange, but something about it spooked me. I shut the book and set it on my coffee table. I hadn’t even reached the original pages that scared me and I was already nervous. My legs were bouncing up and down like jackhammers. And, very slowly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I got the feeling of being watched. 

It was nothing like how I feel now. It was like someone was looking at me through a two way mirror in my microwave. They could see me, but it was so twisted and diluted, it was barely worth it. But, I whipped my head around anyway, looking for the source. And of course, there was nothing. 

I didn’t touch the journal for the rest of the night. I worked on designing some rough drafts and I ordered takeout and I went to bed. It was only when I was about to go to bed that I realized that there were no dates on any of the journal entries. 

The next day, I tried to avoid it, but I couldn’t. I was grasped by a sudden curiosity, a need to know what else Elliot wrote about, what he did to Gertrude, how he managed to write those pages I found. So I read more of the journal.

This was when Elliot started losing it, to put it simply. He started talking about how he hadn’t slept for a day and he felt the exact same as he did before. He talked about Watching his neighbors - ‘watching’ was capitalized by the way - and trying to extend his reach to Watch the landlord, or maybe even Gertrude. Reading that part scared me. I don’t know how he was watching the neighbors, security cams maybe? Just cutting a hole in the wall Psycho-style? Even though that was terrifying in it’s own right, the landlord doesn’t even live in the building. He only comes back when rent’s due or if one of us breaks something. So the idea of Elliot somehow finding out where he lives, and then watching him as a way to pass the time, or him watching and tormenting Gertrude - who is his subordinate! - shook me harder than I thought.

The background feeling of me being watched grew and pressurized, making me shiver. I suddenly got the image of Elliot - or what I imagined he looked like - right behind me, staring at me with huge, bulbous eyes. I turned around so quickly I felt something in my neck pop. But nothing was there. I tried to shake it off, but I was always one to fall for campfire scary stories, sleeping with a nightlight until my teens, so no rationalization I tried to make could make me feel better. 

I slept with my bedroom light on that night, for every time I turned the lights off every shadow turned into Elliot, standing tall and staring. I didn’t end up sleeping that night, laying awake until dawn, trying to ignore the terror inside me, bubbling up and overflowing.

I didn’t want to finish the journal, but I hoped that if I did, maybe whatever was watching me would stop. So I finished, but every few minutes I had to ignore the urge to look behind me. I knew nothing would be there. 

The last hundred or so pages were...anti-climatic. I finally got to the two pages that started it all, right after Elliot wrote that he hadn’t been sleeping for five days. I know it sounds impossible, but almost like he knew I would think it, he wrote:

_ “I don’t know how I am alive. But I know if the Eye wanted me dead, I would be. At least I have more time to See.” _

So I didn’t question it. I had long given up trying to ratinalize whatever Elliot was expirencing. And, no other pages were like the ones that had drawn me in. Every other entry seemed completely normal. It was almost like Elliot would know I would read it, like he planted those pages there for me. I think that scared me more than the pages himself. 

On a lighter note, it seemed like he did indeed “have more time to See”, whatever that means, as he finally got a handle on Gertrude, fulfilling his goal he wrote about earlier, making her See the deaths of all her assistants. Apparently she left him alone after that, and I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he killed those assistants himself. He certainly seemed capable enough. 

There were a few more entries, talking about how he was looking for a new apartment, and then nothing. That was it. There were still about ten pages left, but he either chose to leave them blank, or moved out before he could finish. I looked through the pages again, to find, on the very back cover was a drawing of an open eye. It was simple, drawn in blue pen, and when I stared at it, I swear it blinked at me. 

And ever since then, I’ve been watched. I know I have, I can feel it. I’m still living in that apartment, I can’t afford anywhere else. Ever since I read the journal my work had suffered. Almost all my designs have eyes in then, some so small the client doesn’t notice, others taking over almost half the design. I’ve lost so many clients that way. They tell me to remake it, so I do. But the eyes are still there. I remake it again and again and finally my clients give up on me, going somewhere else. I don’t know what to do. 

I’ve brought the book with me. You can have it. I can’t bring myself to give it to him, can’t bring myself to look at the man that had ruined my life with his ceaseless watching. And I know you’ll give it to him. I know he’s here. I can feel him watching me. I can feel you watching me.

You must be Gertrude. You certainly match his description of “sickening sweet old lady, dripping with poison”. Boy oh boy, does he  _ hate _ you. I suggest you quit, before he does something worse. Though I’m not sure what’s worse than having the death of your coworkers engraved into your brain. I’m sure he’ll find a way. 

Maybe when I leave here he’ll stop. I know what you’re thinking, wishful thinking, right? But maybe. I still have hope.

I don’t know what I’ll do if he keeps watching. I’d rather die.

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement ends. 

It seems that...It seems that Ms. Broker comitted suicide, three days after giving this statement. There isn’t much more to say. 

I couldn’t find the journal in Artifact Storage. I’m assuming Elias took it back. Or Gertrude stole it, I’m not sure. I’m tempted to ask Elias about Ms. Broker but I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me anything. I just can’t believe he watched her until she killed herself. If I didn’t like Elias before, this statement would surely make anyone hate him. I’m glad he’s locked up. Although that doesn’t stop him from Seeing. But it does make me feel a little better.

This statement also gives me a good insight into Elias’s powers, how he turned from the pothead in college to the evil mastermind he is now. I wonder if I don’t need to sleep either…

Well, that is an experiment for another day. Or another night, to be more precise. I just hope no one else is being tormented like Ms. Broker was. 

End recording. 


End file.
